


Paid Internships

by KoroMarimo



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Enemies to Friends, F/M, Grim Reapers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Interns & Internships, Misogyny, Office, Other, Physical Abuse, Reader-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 21:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13960482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoroMarimo/pseuds/KoroMarimo
Summary: Late on the first day of the job and already pissing off the superiors... Oh well, at least you're getting paid for this.





	Paid Internships

**Author's Note:**

> Office work/internships are hell and should probably be outlawed.

“Ma’am,” you whispered politely, “I believe you have the wrong name listed.”

Your tiny fingers prodded your papers forward onto the desk that you could barely reach. The PR mediator took them into her hands. Carefully to be sure she _didn’t_ make a mistake, she looked down to your file. Everything was as it should be according to the notary. Name, age, occupation, time of death, the seal showed everything had been double and triple checked. She focused in on the birth date and age of death a bit more closely.

“Didn’t they tell it to you straight away during your training? You’re awfully young...”

“Of course they explained it to me. But this was just a departmental accident I’m sure ma’am. I’m fairly certain I’ve been called a different name during my time as an office intern. I’ve been doing this for years the way Messers. Humphries and Slingby explained it, this can’t be my first time here... Can it?”

“Love...” she sighed, “We all wish to be someone else at some point and time, but when you die your name is going to be the one documented in life.”

“But I honestly do not believe that was really my name.” you insisted. “I’m Miss Darling. I do not know who this person is.”

Ah… So that was it. You were very, very young indeed and the round trainee spectacles didn’t help the image either. Your green eyes were strangely minimized in the lenses, a stronger prescription from the norm Pops had said, an indicator that in your past life you had been just as blind as a reaper if not worse off. It made you look like a baby, and at first the PR woman had nearly fallen off her seat wondering how such a little thing like yourself could have known how to take the easy way out. This was all you knew, or at least you thought you knew it... Perhaps a familiar profession from the past, something lost to your subconscious, was filling in the gaps and this whole spectacle was on account of the shock. Such a thing was said to be very common in younger reapers, but she had been working in Public Relations as a mediator for what felt like centuries and had never seen such a phenomenon until now.

“I’ll let you in on a secret sweetie.” said the PR woman gently. “When you’re as young as you are entering this profession, your memories tend to go a bit dodgy. The older you are, the better they stick, but the young ones always try to insist that they’ve always been like this. For now, this is the name we have you listed as, and you’ll just have to learn to grow into it.”

“But…”

You looked so confused. She wasn’t making any sense. You’d woken up that morning drenched as though you were sprayed with cold water, strange weights in your pockets revealed river rocks the size of a baby’s head... And now you only knew you were late for work and documented with the wrong name because the nice men who had been with you at the time of waking had already given you the lecture of who you were and your profession. But you didn’t know they’d only been kind, trying to relieve you of the shock, and may have neglected to mention one or two details.

“Yes ma’am…” you finally conceded defeat. There would be no arguing with her, as it was you were still terribly late and running later still.

“Take your identification card with you at all times, but for now please report to the Retrieval offices for your daily assignment, cubicle 169. One of the field reapers will be your supervisor for the duration of your time here, and depending on the date and availability it will probably not be the same person twice.” spoke the PR woman.

“Yes ma’am.” you said mechanically.

“Depending on Retrieval’s needs they may ask you to venture out on the field and assist a supervisor, however you will be briefed ahead of time and submitted to extensive testing and background check before we can approve you. You are expected to be in proper attire and punctual at all times, is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ordinarily the ladies are assigned to the offices based on age, but in your case we may need you elsewhere. Nasty blighters working Retrieval are always understaffed, so the first new intern we got we decided to begin unloading on their shoulders with the approval of Personnel. Give ‘em a bit of a nasty shock when they see we need our young gents for manual labor in office. Do you have any further questions or concerns before I release you for your assignment?”

“No… Thank you, good day ma’am.” you mumbled.

“Good day, and remember: Cubicle 169.”

The pattering of your tiny heels sounded like the skittering of a cockroach as you left the Public Relations office. Everything was neat, tidy and white. The flooring and furniture were all the same uniform shade, with not so much as a plant to disturb the uniformity. All the female employees seemed gaudy and obnoxious in their black work clothes. Behind the desks their hands flew over their work, and you could hear their heels banging against the flooring impatiently. Every single one was watching the clock, waiting for their shift to be done for the day so they could go home to whatever may have been waiting for them.

You couldn’t even think of going home at this point. Not when returning you would be left alone to your thoughts to try and figure out who truly was the person behind the name that PR had you registered as. For now you figured, better to get on with work and ignore all your problems like the good girl you should be, instead of worrying and agonizing over your past. You were dead. That was certain. And now you had a job to complete before you could move on with whatever it was fate had in store for you. 

Apparently you hadn’t been working here even a few minutes, but already it felt as though you’d been here years. You nodded politely to ladies and gents alike, bent at the waist to superiors, and sped through the hallways expertly in heels. Instincts, or perhaps seeing the bulk of the men scurrying from one location, lead you easily to the Retrieval offices where your supervisor would be waiting. There was an open office in the front and private suites to the back where management hid from the outside world. The men paid no heed to you as you wound your way silently past those of them that stood around talking between the cubicles, you hardly came up to chest level. Here these offices were more somber, shades of white stopped abruptly in the hallway and made way for charcoal and grey once you went beyond the boundary. You felt safer here, less exposed and able to blend into the wallpaper should you need to.

Yet whoever occupied cubicle 169 seemed to have little to no regard for the drab coloration. Shades of red broke up the darker colors like lava escaping the dark black crust of the earth.

“You’re late.” accused the supervisor. “I was told you were to be here precisely by noon. It is now 1:30pm. This will be mentioned to Management.”

“I apologize. This is from Public Relations.” you handed forward a slip of cardstock only to wince when it was balled up and thrown into the bin.

“I have your assignment for the day and will be documenting your performance for the duration of your work day today. You will read and approve my reports by signing your initials and dating them, and at the end of your work shift you will send these reports to management.”

Your supervisor didn’t bother to ask for an introduction or anything that would grant you a presence, just dumped a stack of file folders in your arms and told you where to go.

“These need to be notarized by upper Management and back on my desk immediately, the red files are my forms that need tidying for my trial at 5’clock, and expect me to need you for some overtime work darling. I have many places to go and important men to see, I haven’t the time for lollygagging about at my useless job.”

“Yes Sir…” you responded, only to be impeded by a right hard smack upside your head.

“You will address me as ‘Miss Sutcliff’, do I make myself clear you little louse?” demanded your supervisor.

“Yes S- Yes Miss Sutcliff…” you were sure to correct yourself lest you suffer another hand of wrath.

“Hop to it then!” demanded your supervisor. “I expect you to have all of this done before my trial is set to commence, and while you’re scurrying about get your scrawny backside down to the lobby café and bring me a cappuccino with macaroons. It will come out of your pocket naturally, as repayment for forcing my delicate eyes to see those hideous excrement colored lumps you call shoes!”

“Yes, right away Miss Sutcliff." 

With your arms full you lunged out of the reach of your supervisor’s sharp tongue and hand. The woes you had woken up with this morning had ceased to be the minute they were pushed out by your tasks. To others they might seem endless, but to a blank slate with a hive mentality they offered a most helpful distraction from reality. You would exceed expectation in these reports, otherwise you would be doomed to suffer the wrath of your innermost turmoil.


End file.
